


Supposed To Be

by bklt



Series: Texts [4]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 14:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklt/pseuds/bklt
Summary: Willa remembered.When Willa smiled at Waverly when she returned to the Homestead, it was one of recognition, the blank, lost look in her eyes replaced with a gleam of something familiar."Wave."Wave. She called her Wave."I remember, babygirl."Everything Waverly wanted to feel had finally arrived. Relief, happiness, the promise of a new beginning of the life they should have had. Overjoyed didn’t do justice to how Waverly felt when Willa reached out for her, arms outstretched, Waverly colliding into the embrace as if she was the one who’d been missing for fifteen years.This was how it was supposed to be.Willa's return stirs complicated emotions within Waverly. Nicole is there to listen.





	Supposed To Be

Waverly was short circuiting. A million thoughts were in line to be processed, none of them getting the attention they deserved, as if caught in a dam downriver. It didn’t help that she was as drunk as Wynonna, which was truly saying something about her mental state about now.

Waverly rarely got like this. The last vestige of sobriety told her that it was a bad idea, that, with her family history, she was asking for a world of trouble. But she quieted reason and stared at the floor. She felt numb and everything all at once, slumped on Willa’s old bed with Wynonna beside her, none of them knowing what to say, their sentences variations of disbelieving free association.  
  
“You’re sure it’s her?” Waverly asked for the third time that hour.

“I saw her shoot Peacemaker and send Lou back to hell. Fire, screaming, the whole-” she waved her hands around, “thing.” 

“Then that means…”

“I’m aware, yep.” Wynonna took a drink of whiskey, her face scrunching at the thought than at the taste. “Then I’m not the Heir.”

Wynonna reluctantly gave up the whiskey when Waverly reached for it, taking a swig of her own and letting the alcohol burn her throat. “You don’t know that. She doesn’t remember anything. She may never remember.”

“She will. She has to.” Wynonna had that look in her eyes—that wild look as Gus always called it—intense jade heightened by half a bottle of cheap whiskey and a storm of emotions. Waverly wasn’t going to tell Wynonna that memory loss didn’t work like that, that people don’t just suddenly remember things. But she was drunk enough to tell her something else.

“Doc’s gone.” 

Wynonna looked like she got slapped in the face. “What?”

“You gave him the Stone Witch’s car, and I told him he should learn how to drive.” Waverly downed more whiskey. “I didn’t know he’d leave. I’m sorry.” 

Wynonna’s smile was dangerous, one Waverly only saw when she’d really given up. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Fuck him. If he wants to leave he can leave. I don’t give a shit.” And because she didn’t give a shit she grabbed the bottle and took a long drink, gripping it so tight that Waverly braced herself for the sound of shattering glass.

“And that’s the last thing I care about right now. Our extremely traumatized sister is sleeping downstairs. She’s our priority.”

It was Waverly’s turn to steal the whiskey back, letting the drink wash over her in hopes it’d drown her thoughts to mush. Turning that brain off. Ha. Maybe Champ was onto something. Except no, screw Champ, and why was she even thinking about him right now?

Too much. That’s what all of this was. And the worst part was she couldn’t even be happy that Willa was back. 

“Careful babygirl. You’re outpacing me.”

“Then keep up.” Waverly sneered— _Jesus, where did that come from?_ —and Wynonna gently lifted the bottle away and placed it on the floor, looking suspiciously at her little sister.

“Whoa, okay, no. I know Earps have more alcohol than blood at all times, but this is weird even for you. _Especially_ for you."

Waverly scoffed. “What, our sister comes back after fifteen years and I’m not allowed to have a drink?”

There wasn’t a comeback Wynonna could think of, at least one that wouldn’t make her look like a hypocrite. “I guess if there’s any occasion to get bombed, it’s now. Buuuut,” she cupped Waverly’s face, “I’m cutting us both off. Okay? We don’t need to be hungover cranky assholes when Willa wakes up.”

“That’s the most responsible thing you’ve ever said!”

“I know. Feels weird. Though hey! Maybe us being super hungover will bring back memories of Daddy for her!” Wynonna’s laugh was mechanical, automatic and cold to mask the living fire of hurt inside. Waverly scowled.

“Sorry. Bad joke.” 

“I get it. It’s fine.” Sometimes Waverly wished she had the ability to deflect as well as her sister. “But maybe we should start with the happy stuff first?”

Wynonna sighed and looked to Waverly, the fire in her eyes extinguished without losing the warmth. “C’mon. Bring it in.”

She stretched out her arm, Waverly leaning into Wynonna’s hug knowing it was for her benefit than for herself. As tough as Wynonna acted, Waverly was glad Wynonna always found a soft spot for her.

“You’ll always be my little sister, no matter what. And I want you to be okay.” She kissed the top of Waverly’s head. “I love you, dude.”

Nuzzling into Wynonna’s shoulder, Waverly knew that while everything would change, she hoped this was the one thing that would stay the same. 

* * *

_-[How are you holding up?]_

_[It’s a lot to process]-_

_-[I know]_

_[She’s been gone my whole life, as far as I remember]-_

_-[I can’t even imagine]_

_[In other news, Wynonna asked me if we’re “best friends”]-_

_-[...whaaaa?]_

Waverly was trying her very best to drive the speed limit. She could imagine Nicole in the back of her head hinting she slow down, saying she didn’t want to be the one writing her ticket one day.

_I’ll do it,_ she’d said through a bright, short laugh. _I mean it._

_Oh, I know. That’s who you are._

_And what’s that?_

_Unfalteringly principled._

A small smile crept its way onto Waverly’s lips. 

But it was so agonizing going that slow. It was a back country road, and no one followed the 50 k/m an hour limit. At this point, Waverly was convinced she could walk faster.

It was better than being on the Homestead at least. Willa’s return was already draining her, and Wynonna’s absolute, continuous cluelessness about her and Nicole was the cherry on top. It seemed so insignificant in comparison, but it chiseled away at her with each passing day. Perhaps any other day in a better mood she could handle it. But today…

She didn’t think things would feel like they used to this quickly.

It was ridiculous that she could be so bothered by it. Her sister was back, and here she was acting like a child, scared that she was being ignored. _Jealous,_ when Willa wasn’t even a shadow of her former self anymore. She was confused and tired and didn’t even remember what proper social cues were. For instance, Waverly super could’ve done without the spontaneous disrobing. 

Waverly had hit downtown Purgatory proper, only to hit every red light she came to. She drummed impatiently on the steering wheel of her Jeep. She really, really needed to see Nicole, and ten minutes away was stretching into forever and eternity. Though they’d only been together a short while, Nicole had quickly become her bedrock, flat ground she could land on when her whole life was freefalling out of control.

Shorty’s passed by on her left, causing Waverly to hold her breath like it was a graveyard on a roadtrip. Another piece of kindling to the ever-growing bonfire of things she had to deal with. It’d be nice if the universe could calm down and let her catch her breath—but the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

Eight minutes later (she _did_ end up speeding, just the tiniest smidge), she finally reached Nicole’s house, Waverly shifting her Jeep to park before coming to a complete stop and rushing to the front door. It opened before she could knock, the door barely closing before Nicole wrapped her in a warm embrace, Waverly gratefully pressing against her chest and breathing her in like smelling salts. Nicole rested her chin atop Waverly’s head, curling her body around her like a protective barrier where it was just them, where the world could disappear even if it was but a moment.

“Let’s sit down, baby,” Nicole said finally, taking Waverly’s hand and leading her to the couch, a cup of tea waiting on the coffee table just for her.

“You’re amazing,” Waverly said, bringing the tea to her lap and huddling around it like fire in rain. 

“You deserve it. These past twenty-four hours couldn’t’ve been easy. Doc gone, Willa back…”

“I can’t even parse anything that’s happened. It’s like, I think about it, and there’s just this wall, you know?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Nicole said. “Willa...is she—how is she doing?”

“She woke up in a strange house and had two strangers tell her they’re her sisters. Probably not great.” She tapped on the ceramic of the mug in her hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m sleep deprived and a teeeeensy bit hungover.

“Well uh, I can get you some painkillers, Gatorade-”

Nicole moved to rise before Waverly stopped her with a hand, chuckling softly. “It’s okay. I just need to be somewhere that isn’t my house. Recharge.”

Nicole wrung her hands in her lap, her posture bent and unsure. No doubt she wanted to do something more tangible to take away the hurt and confusion Waverly was carrying on her back.

“Being here with you is already helping. You’re so...unchaotic.”

Nicole laughed. “Well, considering your life, I’m not sure I have to try too hard.” 

“Trust me, everything could be fine and dandy and you’d still be exceptionally stable.” Setting her tea on the table, Waverly looked down the length of the blue couch, the soft cushions inviting her to have the rest she so sorely needed. “Hey...can I just lay here and not talk for a while? Maybe with the TV on?”

“Food Network?” Nicole said, taking the remote from the side table.

“Mm. How about something you like? I doubt I’ll be doing much actual watching.”

Shuffling to the end of the couch, Nicole let Waverly lay down and rest her head in her lap, taking a woven blanket with pink desert flowers and draping it over Waverly, who snugged into a comfortable position. Nicole switched to the Discovery Channel, which was in the middle of a documentary about ancient Egypt. Like a lot of kids, Waverly poured herself into everything about the subject, borrowing as many Eyewitness books she could from the severely lacking elementary school library, fascinated by the cross sections and little factoids in the margins. She remembered how she begged Uncle Curtis to take her to an actual museum one day, getting Wynonna on her side by saying she could see a real dead guy from thousands and thousands of years ago.

But it was Purgatory. What she wanted was kilometers and cities away. Instead Curtis compromised by bringing Waverly to the local history museum. At first Waverly was disappointed. Why would she want to know about the place she lived in? But as young as she was, she knew Uncle Curtis was trying to do something adjacent to her interests, and she kept her reservations to herself.

She knew her family was famous, but it never hit her until she walked into the museum, pictures of her great-great grandfather set in wooden display plaques with descriptions of words she had yet to learn. It turned out the story of Purgatory was _her_ story. And when she left the museum with an overpriced t-shirt that was out of Curtis’ budget, she was excited to tell people she was Waverly. Waverly _Earp._

Too quickly she learned that not everyone was as impressed as she was. Adults would smile politely, the corners of their lips bent strangely like they knew some adult secret she didn’t. And when her classmates were at an age where they had the capacity for cruelty, she understood why.

No matter how badly the insults stung, none were as bad as what people said about Wynonna, what the entire town whispered about at their dinner tables. Waverly always wondered how Wynonna could smile like she did, that lopsided, cocky grin when she _knew_ someone was beneath her. When the question of her mental state was used as ammunition against her, she turned it back on them like some bullet-bending stunt, asking if they really wanted to mess with “the crazy girl”. That, if she was as unstable as everyone thought, she might just snap at any moment. That was around the time Waverly got her answer—how Wynonna was able to smile. Because Wynonna smiled through everything, thinking that if she wore what hurt her the most like a medal of honour no one would say it first. But one word about Willa and fists flew. Eventually Waverly grew used to Wynonna coming home with blood on the collar of her shirt.

Nothing haunted Wynonna more than Willa. Not the Seven, not Peacemaker firing in her hand and Daddy grunting as the life was taken from him. And now she was back—not in the way either of them expected—but here all the same. Whatever came next, Waverly hoped that maybe, just maybe, they could finally heal.

Waverly felt Nicole’s fingers weave through her hair, her fingertips massaging the back of her head as Waverly stared at the TV. She hummed quietly, letting Nicole know how good it felt. She’d never told Nicole what happened the night of the attack—or anyone, for that matter, not even Champ during the honeymoon phase of their relationship. It was too much, too personal, and she feared that even with all the supernatural things redacted, people would think she was lying. Or worse: that Wynonna was influencing her. But Nicole...not Nicole. She wouldn’t judge her for it, and Nicole was suspicious enough of Purgatory that she might even believe it.  
  
“The last time I saw Willa, she was being pulled out of a window.”

The fingers in Waverly’s hair tensed. Waverly wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to go down this road but found herself heading in that direction despite it all. The need for someone—Nicole—to listen was greater than the safety of keeping it close, the secret rotting away inside. Holding her breath, she sat up and wrapped the blanket around her, trying to find the bravery within to follow through.

“Nicole? I think I need to tell you what happened.”

“I’m honoured, Waves. But you don’t have to revisit it if you don’t want, especially with Willa back.”

“That’s why I want to. Even if it’s stuff you’ve heard before, I want you to hear it from me. Before rumours start flying.” She sighed and planted her feet into the floor. “Okay. Let’s start with what you know.”

“It’s a bit unclear. Officially, Wynonna…” she hesitated.

“You can say it. It’s okay.” 

Waverly’s insistence didn’t change the heavy pause in Nicole’s chest, her mouth half open as if waiting for the words to spill out for her. “The gun discharged in Wynonna’s hand, killing your father.”

Waverly knew what Nicole was trying to do. There wasn’t a pretty way to say it, Nicole left with impersonal technicality as if it’d take the edge off. But Waverly wanted the facts out in the open no matter how deep it cut to say them. 

“Wynonna shot Daddy. Yeah,” Waverly stated as Nicole winced. “What else?”

“Wynonna said it was demons that attacked the Homestead and people are...uh…not kind to her about that. And Willa went missing, but no one knows how or why.”

“What do you think happened?”

It was a big question, and Nicole handled it as such, taking her time and choosing her words before she spoke her answer as slow as molasses. “I think something—someone, many people—did attack the Homestead that night. Something traumatic like that, it’s understandable she’d see them as demons. Honestly, I’m not sure it makes much of a difference. They were real either way, weren’t they?”

“Oh, it was real. The attack, I mean,” Waverly added quickly. “Seven. There were Seven of them.” 

Nicole’s jaw tensed. Waverly didn’t confirm or deny that they were revenants, just how Nicole didn’t confirm or deny her belief in them. Yet Waverly could tell that she only verified Nicole’s suspicions, her brows creased in contemplation and grappling with something bigger.

“I don’t understand why the police didn’t go looking for them. Seven people? A large scale attack like that and it’s all placed on Wynonna? With how bad the house must’ve looked after that...a child couldn’t’ve done all of that.”

When Waverly thought about it, as she often did, it was easy to see how the attack was covered up. Not only was it fantastical—and no one in Purgatory wanted to admit to anything of the sort—Wynonna was too convenient to blame. A troubled kid since eight years old, it was simpler to leave it at that. Because it was more comforting to believe there weren’t a band of killers running loose, more tantalizing and scandalous to believe a tragic, mortifying tale such as theirs. No demons. No monsters, figurative or otherwise. Just a scared child with a gun.

Waverly took her tea again. “You have a twelve year old insisting it was demons, then me, a hysterical six year old. And…” Waverly grasped her mug tighter, “how messed up the house was? Everyone knew Ward Earp loved his whiskey. What Mama went through. An open secret, just like everything here.” 

The weight of Waverly’s implications pounded on Nicole’s shoulders, her breath stuttering as she searched for something to say as the dots were connected. Waverly understood the hesitation. Perfect words didn’t exist for something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Waverly. I had no idea.”

Waverly shrugged. There weren’t the right words for a response either. “No one really talks about it anymore. Guess no one wants to speak ill of the dead.” She shrugged again. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But...it’s as okay as it’s going to be.” 

Cautiously, Nicole raised her hand behind Waverly’s back, waiting for her to decide if she wanted the contact. Waverly leaned into Nicole by way of acceptance, who held her gently across her chest, rubbing Waverly’s shoulder to show that she was here, that she could count on her for comfort. A physical touch when words would never do justice.

“Give me a minute?” Waverly whispered. 

“As long as you need.”

It was a while before Waverly spoke again, Nicole embracing her through the silence of background noise, patiently waiting for Waverly to find her footing again. Waverly didn’t talk much about her father. Sometimes people would comment on him, neutral statements without substance where she could only nod and pretend to be grateful at offered platitudes, the tar pit of sorrow, anger, and confusion swallowing any answer she could give. What was there to say? More than that, what was she supposed to feel?

“We saw them coming in the distance. At first Daddy was telling us it was okay, not to be afraid. Wynonna was trying to calm me down. SInging to me.” Mama’s lullaby. But it was wrong, sung through terrified taught vocal chords and tensed lips devoid of the comfort the song used to bring. It only made Waverly wish that, in the chaos of it all, Mama could be there to sing instead.

“Next there’s screaming. Everyone yelling to get the gun. But Willa...Willa was grabbed through the window and Daddy was dragged outside. Wynonna took the gun and aimed but…” Waverly choked.

_The gun discharged in Wynonna’s hand, killing your father._

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. And you know what? No matter what was supposed to happen, what shot Wynonna was meant to take...it’s better that Daddy died at her hands than what would’ve happened to him after.”

“Yeah. A second location,” Nicole said quietly. “It might’ve been…” she stopped, unsure if she was allowed to say what Waverly had already thought before.

“A mercy? Yeah. It was.”

There was no maybe about it. What Waverly didn’t tell Nicole was that Peacemaker had a mind of its own. That somehow, even though Willa was the Heir and Wynonna was too young to fire it, Peacemaker managed to find its mark. A cruel mercy. Because while her father may have been spared, it was them—Wynonna—who had to live with the guilt for the rest of her life.

The nightmare continued. It was a scene burned into Waverly’s memory, how Wynonna looked. Her hair was blonde then, her face frozen in the same horrified expression when Peacemaker rang into the night. And how Waverly’s screams didn’t seem to be coming from her own body when the car drove away, leaving Waverly alone, orphaned, a sister gone.

That was the last she saw of Wynonna for a long time.

“The rest was fuzzy. It was a lot of crying. No one telling me anything, not knowing what was happening. It didn’t sink in until the funeral. When Daddy was buried and Willa was just a casket.”

It didn’t matter that Willa’s body wasn’t there. As the caskets were lowered into the earth with funeral flowers thrown after it, it was the finality that struck Waverly the most. Six months of searching and it was over. Willa was gone.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you and Wynonna.”

Waverly shook her head. “Horrible. And now she’s back. It’s her but it’s not, you know? She doesn’t remember a single thing about us.” Waverly wiped her eyes. It was like they let in the ghost they tried to forget.

“This should be the happiest day of my life, Nicole. So why don’t I feel happy?”

“All those years of grief don’t just disappear. Not it’s shock, confusion...guilt. It’s okay if you don’t feel the way you think you should. It’s going to take time.”

“Yeah, well, I hope it’s soon. Because I really, really don’t know if I can take much more.”

“You don’t have to carry it all. Wynonna’s probably feelin’ as lost as you are. You have each other.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Waverly sniffled and took Nicole’s hand into hers. She felt lighter, her head less muddled and thoughts reorganizing themselves into something comprehensible. They weren’t pleasant—and they wouldn’t be for a while, she knew—but it was clarity all the same. “Thank you. For listening.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m here for you.”

Turning to the side table, Nicole grabbed a box of tissues and handed it to Waverly, who laughed and took it gratefully. “Yeah, you knew this was gonna be a crying situation.”

“I mean, how could it not? This is really big, Waves. When does this sort of thing ever happen?” 

Waverly tongued the inside of her cheek. With her family, she wasn’t sure there was a limit on strange occurrences.

That, and there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to her life.

“Almost never,” Waverly said, bunching a tissue in her hand.

_Unless you’re an Earp._

* * *

Willa remembered.

When Willa smiled at Waverly when she returned to the Homestead, it was one of recognition, the blank, lost look in her eyes replaced with a gleam of something familiar.

_Wave_.

Wave. She called her Wave.

_I remember, babygirl._

Everything Waverly wanted to feel had finally arrived. Relief, happiness, the promise of a new beginning of the life they should have had. Overjoyed didn’t do justice to how Waverly felt when Willa reached out for her, arms outstretched, Waverly colliding into the embrace as if she was the one who’d been missing for fifteen years.

This was how it was supposed to be.

_Gosh, you’re so big now. But still…_

_So tiny? Yeah, I get that a lot._

Their shared laughter was genuine, bright like the sunlight streaming from the kitchen window, the kitchen where they used to eat waffles and cereal with chocolate milk.

And Waverly couldn’t believe how stupid she felt. She was so worried about the past that she couldn’t see Willa returning for what it was. A miracle. A gift. Healing. So when Willa asked Waverly to show her everything that had happened after she’d gone missing, of course she obliged. In that moment, the list of things she wouldn’t do for her eldest sister was frighteningly short.

She thought she was doing the right thing when she unboxed the trove of horrid momentos that was Willa’s death. The certificates, the little card given at the funeral with her school picture, Matthew 19:14 written on the back. How Daddy was buried and her body was represented by sandbags. A moment of weakness, that desperate need to appeal to her sister came next, speaking of marshmallows and how much she cried. Then was Willa’s voice, older, slower, but just as she remembered it. Callous. Mocking.

_Gee, that must’ve been so hard for you._

That’s when Waverly knew some things never changed. When Willa reached out to touch her she shied away, a primal instinct Waverly didn’t know she had—or correction, didn’t want to admit—not realizing she’d done it until she saw the stunned hurt in Willa’s eyes.

_You’re afraid of me._

She was right. Waverly was afraid. 

Because she had no other point of reference besides being terrified. Willa, whose sisterly terrorizing went beyond sisterly terrorizing, who made Waverly do things that put her in very real danger for amusement, or malice, or a reason she couldn’t understand. Wanting to appease her sister and too young to say no, she’d do those things, walk on thin ice, walk across a beam. And when Willa was gone or dead, she tried to forget, like remembering those things would be an insult to her memory. Instead she tried to conjure happier times, all of them formed from Wynonna’s stories. And Waverly would imagine that Wynonna’s memories were hers too.

_She was curious. Wouldn’t you be curious?_

_It freaked her out!_

_More like pissed her off._

That wasn’t fear she saw from Willa. She’d seen Wynonna’s eyes enough to see it in Willa’s too. When they found her in Shorty’s, drinking like the Earp she was, it was clear that Waverly was right. Something was wrong and Wynonna couldn’t see it. Just like she couldn’t see how Willa treated Waverly when they were children, how she couldn’t see that Nicole was so much more than a friend.

_It’s always been you and I. You aren’t alone anymore._

Just like that, Waverly was six again, watching her big sisters whisper to each other when they thought their baby sister wasn’t listening in the shadows. She wanted to call out from her hiding place and tell Willa that Wynonna was never alone, that she had her, that she _always_ had her. But Wynonna didn’t object. Waverly wasn’t a thought on her lips.

It was funny, actually. Hilarious. Because Waverly didn’t think she could feel this invisible again.

_It’s okay if you don’t like her._

It shouldn’t have been okay. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Darkness swirled across her chest like smoke from burning plastic. She would always be Wynonna’s little sister after all. That’s all she’d ever be.


End file.
